


Alternate Life Choices

by Ahab2631



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: A Bunch Of Other Stuff Later, A Nikolina Fic, AU of an AU, Alina The Pirate, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confident Alina, Everyone Is Hopefully Way Less Annoying Than Their Younger Selves, F/F, F/M, I'm Like Half Awake, Nikolina Sass-Offs, Older Characters, Sasslina, She Grew Up Beautiful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2018-12-11 13:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11714979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahab2631/pseuds/Ahab2631
Summary: Alina grew up using her powers in secret, allowing her an upbringing of confidence and beauty.  She is now in her twenties; she and Mal have had many years of service together in the army.One night, before their eighth crossing of the Fold - what would have been the fateful crossing - she confessed her feelings to him. It didn't go as she'd hoped. Utterly dejected,  she just. . . packed up and left in the dead of night.Months later, half-starved and living on the run, she learns of a pirate who purportedly hires Grisha, doesn't seem to treat them any differently than he does anyone else, and is good to his crew. This leads her to a suspiciously handsome man in a painfully loud teal frock coat and a morning attempt at talking her way into his crew.Predictably, things go horribly wrong from there.A Nikolina-centric fic with pieces of the other relationships, because fun.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not trying to be clever with the title, I'm just garbage at naming things.
> 
> Vignette-style, probably definitely on the rough side. It's a project I started for fun and I'm staying true to its roots, so it only gets very light editing. Because proper editing can bite my face. This fic is my vacation home.
> 
> Standard disclaimer: I don't abandon fics. Ever. *dramaticface* But I do have a brain thing that sometimes makes writing impossible. Don't let long waits between chapters scare you. We (the story and I) ain't goin' nowhere.
> 
> If this looks familiar, that's because it's been around in a "dump" fic of mine for a while. It turned into its own world, so I thought it should have its own home, too.  
> Enjoy!

The directions lead me to what looked like an impressive schooner, at least to my untrained eye. I was hardly a sailor and had only been wandering the port towns for two months or so looking for the man. His ship, if the information I'd bought was to be believed, was sleek and graceful and in far better repair than the ships I was used to seeing. It looked like it would cut through the water like a shark.

I broke through the thickest part of the bustling crowd of men and cargo moving to and from the line of docked ships that ran farther to my left than I could see. Two men were talking at the foot of the schooner's gangplank. One, dressed in brown roughspun and looking more agitated by the moment, was talking to who I assumed could be no other than Sturmhond.

The captain - if the information I'd bought was reliable - stood on the tall side, his golden blond hair windswept but neatly trimmed. He was clean and well-groomed. His build was fit, and he barely looked older than I was. I felt my face prickle with angry heat; he was also uncommonly good-looking, and for a moment I was certain I'd been swindled, despite how careful I'd been. There was no way the man whispered about in hushed voices of respect, in bitterness and hunger inside Taverns and on darkened streets as the feared Sturmhond, Wolf of the Seas, was in his mid-twenties and looked more like a pampered merchant's boy than a hardened sea captain.

In the end, it was his garish teal frock coat that convinced me not to turn around right there and leave. I couldn't imagine more than one man having the stones to wear such a thing on the filthy docks of Western Ravka's largest port city. Besides, I hadn't put months of effort and all my coin into hunting the man down to turn away now. And this was the last option I even wanted to think about. I took a breath and walked forward.

"-not what we agreed on," the man in brown was saying agrily.

"I think you'll find that's exactly what we agreed on," the man I assumed was Sturmhond replied. His voice was light and unconcerned, and I immediately changed my assessment of him. He looked young, and he may well be, but there was a knife under his almost jolly tone. He had the timbre of someone who didn't didn't have to shout or be menacing to get what he wanted. The idiot talking to him didn't seem to be as observant as I was.

The pirate's eyes darted to me, clearly aware he had an audience even though I hung back in the crowd, but his attention stayed on the man before him as he went on.

"I flatter myself that my reputation is fairly well known, and that no part of it includes 'smuggles illegal cargo.' Not without agreeing to it first, anyway. The fact is you lied to me. You risked my crew, and my reputation. Bad form, and really not terribly smart. So what you got, once we managed to get back alive, thank you, was exactly what you paid for. If I picked up something extra for my trouble along the way, that's hardly any of your business. If this wasn't the result you were after, I suggest telling the captain you hire next time what it is you really want."

The man growled something in a language I'd come to recognize as Kerch, and lunged for Sturmhond. I leaned forward, a hand out and my lips parted in warning, but before I could so much as get a lungfull of air to shout, Sturmhond had unholstered a pistol and had it pressed to the man's forehead. The click of the hammer as he pulled it back was clear even over the noise. Through my net, I felt that his crew still. Some of them already had weapons drawn. Was it loyalty? Or were they used to this sort of trouble? And what in the name of all Saints did that mean I was about to get myself into?

Sturmhond cocked his head lightly at the man, gaze as focused as an eagle's. "I'd strongly suggest finding a healthier outlet for that temper, tovarishch. Poetry, perhaps. Or you could simply go spend the remainder of your money in the tavern like everyone else here. I think you'll find either option much more conducive to a long life. Though why you'd want one at this point, I'm not entirely sure, because frankly I don't see much of any point in you. Now if you take a moment to think, hard as I know that will be for you, you'll find that I've been more than generous under the circumstances." Abruptly, all good humor left his face, and when he spoke, his voice was hard and low. It erased any doubt that I wasn't looking at the right man. In the turn of a spun coin, Sturmhond became, frankly, terrifying. "Now, you should leave, before my good humor departs for the day."

The man obviously wanted to argue, but did nothing more than back away, slowly and stiffly, eyes on Sturmhond until he disappeared in the crowd.

The captain looked after him a moment before holstering his pistol in what I saw was a double chest harness, hidden carefully under his coat. As he did so, he asked in the light voice he'd used earlier, "Something I can help you with, lovely?"

I nearly jumped. Instead, I took one last deep breath and strode forward, hoping I looked as calm as I thought I did. I stopped in front of him, hand resting on the strap of my worn rucksack, just as he looked up. I was met with bright, clear hazel eyes.

"I was going to ask if you were Sturmhond, but after that show I find myself strangely convinced."

He tipped his head as if to touch the brim of a hat that wasn't there. "At your service. For the right price."

An odd thing to say to me, given that I knew I hardly looked better than a peasant. Maybe I'd underestimated how good I looked under a week's worth of grime.

Sturmhond held his hand out to me, and I met it, surprised to find rough callouses on his fingers and palms. He wasn't afraid of hard work, then. He pressed his lips to my knuckles politely and straightened up. He didn't move like a pirate, or a commoner. He stood too tall and every little gesture spoke of practiced grace, even under the rough artifice.

"I'm afraid if you have business," he said, "you'll have to make it quick. The tide turns soon, and I have places to be."

"That's actually perfect. I'm here for a job."

He straightened and his eyes took on a studying light. I knew exactly what he saw. A remarkably beautiful young woman, brown hair tied back into a messy knot, filthy and underfed, though healthy enough. I was hardly at my best. But then, I was here for work, not a pageant.

"Are you hungry, Miss. . . ?" he asked out of nowhere.

"Alina," I said.

"Are you hungry then, Alina? I never discuss business on an empty stomach."

I nodded, hiding my confusion, and saw a look flash behind his eyes. Likely he thought I was insane.

I was alright with that.

He held a hand out toward his ship and followed me up the gang plank. His crew took no notice for the most part, though there were a few curious glances. The people I could see looked healthy and clean, like their captain. Likewise, their clothes looked to be in decent repair. Most of them were on the young side, also like their captain.

Sturmhond ushered me through a door into quarters and invited to take a seat at a massive, ornately carved desk that looked like it belonged in the Grand Palace in Os Alta as opposed to a cabin on pirate ship, no matter how nice. Fresh fruit, cheese, and bread were all laid out on a breakfast tray before me, and he invited me to eat. I took a roll, careful not to look too eager despite the fact that my stomach was trying to knot itself out of existence from hunger. It was warm and soft. The pirate had fresh bread. But he did well for himself - probably he had someone get him fresh food at every port. I imagined fish and dry rations got old.

Sturmhond seemed content to lean back in his chair and intertwine his fingers over his flat stomach as I tore off small pieces of bread and chewed them slowly. All I wanted to do was stuff the whole thing in my mouth and swallow it like a duck, but I had a part to play. I held his gaze, waiting for him to speak, but also swept glances around his cabin. Every shelf, every surface had something on it, and like Sturmhond himself, each curio was remarkably well-kept and attractive.

I finished the roll and waited a polite amount of time before reaching for a piece of cheese. Despite his invitation, Sturmhond didn't touch the food. I had no illusions that he had an altruistic bone in his body, but I couldn't figure out what he might be playing at.

Finally he spoke, and I released a quiet but relieved breath. The silence had passed awkward halfway through my roll.

"What might you have to bring to my crew, Alina?" the captain asked. His tone was measured and careful, serious but light, friendly and also commanding. And he had the sort of eyes I'd come to avoid in my life; unlike most people, he seemed to really look at what was in front of him. And at the moment, that was me.

I shrugged one shoulder. "I'd say charm and good looks, but your reputation didn't really precede you on those fronts. Still, not everyone is properly charmed by a man. I could come in handy now and again." I grinned. Then, knowing he needed an actual answer, added, "I heard you hire Grisha."

"That would be illegal."

"Only if you're a citizen of Ravka. It's my understanding you operate more in. . . sovereign territories."

He considered me a moment. "Let's see what you can do, then."

I had to fight to keep surprise at the rapid turn off my face. "I didn't say I _was_ a Grisha."

"Then why would the rather scandalous rumor that I employ them have anything to do with whether or not I take on another mouth?"

I looked down. "I'm not going to insult you by telling you some sad tale. 'I'm an orphan, I've been tracking you down for months, I spent all my gold in the effort, you're my last hope, sun shines out of my arse,'" I said flippantly, waving a hand. Most of it was true, but he didn't need to know that. "So what I'll tell you is that you sound like a man I want to work for. In all seriousness I _have_ been looking for you. I come from Grisha," theoretically true - Grisha almost always had someone with the gift somewhere in their lineage, "and I like that you treat them like anybody else.

"You seem to care about Ravka." I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "So do I. But I deserted the military. It wasn't because I was scared, it was. . . for personal reasons. That doesn't mean I don't care about my country, that I don't still want to help it." For a long time now, in fact, I'd felt like I couldn't do _enough_ to help it, always chasing to make up for a shortcoming I had no control over. I knew there was no way I could save Ravka. Still, part of me felt like that was a personal failure. "I can do that on your ship, at least from time to time.

"So what can _I_ do? I'm military trained. I'm a Cartographer. My drawings are crap, but I know maps and geography and I have a good head for places. I'm not dumb or dull as a board, I can blend in almost anywhere, I keep my head in a fight and hit harder than you'd believe, and in all seriousness. . . well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that having a pretty face really does come in handy. Mine just happens to be for hire."

He considered me in silence, and for a long time, the only sound in the cabin was the ticking of a shiny clock mounted on one of the walls and the shout of men on the docks. I held his gaze, but had to fight not to fidget while I did so.

"Do you have any experience onboard a ship?

". . .No."

He nodded. "Ever been at sea?"

". . .No. But I won't hurl in your boots if that's what you're worried about."

One corner of his lips twitched. Then abruptly, he leaned forward, got to his feet and strode past me. "You do have a decent face, Alina," I felt a prick of annoyance. _Decent?_ "and you're obviously a smart woman. But the fact is that I'm not looking for more help, and even if I was, I wouldn't subject my crew to a green, inexperienced woman when there are men with strong backs who know what they're doing looking for work on the dock below."

"You don't want someone temporary."

That made him pause and turn around. "Come again?"

I stood up. "You could hire someone out there who's bigger and stronger and knows what they're doing. But I'm not looking to work for a season and take off. I don't have a family to get back to or anyone who will miss me." I ignored the sharp stab in my chest. "I'm not afraid of Grisha and I'm not superstitious, so I won't care about working with them. I don't have opinions on how things should be done onboard a ship or my own way of doing them. A blank slate may take more work, but the payout for your investment is invaluable.

"What you do doesn't have a season. You go where you need to when you need to go, stay gone as long as you need to, and the more time someone is on your crew, the more you know what they can do and what you can count on them for."

He seemed to be listening, so I took a few steps toward him. "I'm not looking for something temporary. As long as you want me on your crew, you'll have me. You can't get that from the men on the docks."

He considered me openly. "Can you fight, Alina? Use a gun, a blade?"

My lips twitched. "The only training I have is what the army provided, and I was hardly a front-line combatant, but I do alright."

He looked unconvinced.

"You looked at me down on the docks like I was crazy when I agreed to come up here with you alone, easy as if you'd asked me to hold your hat rather than put myself in an idiotically dangerous situation. I also just told you that there's no one in the world who would miss me if I didn't come back. But you yourself pointed out that I'm obviously not stupid. So don't you wonder why I'd be so calm about showing you my neck like that?"

Appreciation flashed behind his eyes, but it was buried quickly back under the face of a man who was sizing up an unknown quantity. ". . .Alright, then. Show me what you can do."

I blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Am I supposed to take your word for it that you can hold your own? I don't know if you can follow orders, I don't know your temperament, you have no experience or training, you're small, weak, and underfed. Combat prowess," his eyes flicked up and down my frame as if it were a joke, "is your only prayer. Now I've got things to do, like I said, so you've got ten seconds to impress me."

I was so taken aback that I had to give myself a shake.

"Five seconds."

Without thinking, I cocked my arm back and snapped it forward toward his face.

My fist hit his palm with a loud slap and he clamped his fingers around it with painful force.

"Impressively fast and strong given your condition, I'll grant you. But not nearly enough. Now, feel free to take as much food as you like, but it's time you should be going."

He turned around, boots clomping over the floor as he crossed the rest of the distance to the exit.

I saw my last chance shattering, and something inside of me snapped. All the hunger, the anger, a parade of idiot men who preferred to try to get into my trousers than treat my honestly as I made my way from town to town, the hopelessness of my situation, and, more than anything, the pain that had driven me to ruin my life in the first place reared up, and I did something very stupid.

I flung my hand up and summoned a perfect copy of myself in front of Sturmhond.

He froze. I made the copy smirk. Then I let it fall away.

Even from behind, I could tell he was stunned. Good. He turned and looked to the last place he'd seen me standing to find me right where he'd left me, my expression carefully blank. No anger, no desperation, just emptiness. If I let anything else through, I'd shatter, and he might get cut by the debris.

"How did you. . . ?"

With another wave of my hand, I made myself look exactly like him. His copy winked, then I let it fall.

Seconds ticked by and he said nothing. I lost patience and shoved past him, uttering, "Come on," and made my way back outside. I walked to the middle of the deck and turned to face him, crossing my arms, and I let my net flare wide.

"You have seven people on deck," I said as if reading a report. "At least one woman. Two are up in the rigging, one is over the side doing something to the hull, one is at the raised part of the ship at the aft, one is coiling a rope to my left, and the other two are drinking at the bow."

Sturmhond arched a brow at me. ". . .You said you had a mind for places, not inhuman observational skills. You weren't looking around when I brought you onboard."

"No, I wasn't. One of the men at the bow is about to sneeze."

Right on que, an agitated explosion of breath cut the air.

Now both of his brows were up, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking, if anything. He didn't look tongue-tied, but he wasn't saying anything, either, and that panic of being turned away was still up in me.

Growling quietly, I pushed my net to its limits.

"Two ships behind me away from the crowd is a couple kissing. Two children are playing nearby. This one's hardly impressive, but square crates are being loaded onto the ship. The man is wearing a hat, and a few paces into the crowd are three people arguing. . . .And one of the children just skinned a knee." I let my net drop away, fighting not to breathe hard from the effort of holding it so large.

A member of Sturmhond's crew had come up behind me as I had been talking, and after a moment, he nodded them in the direction of the railing. As Sturmhond and I held eye contact, the person made their way to the railing, looked in the direction I'd indicated, then turned back and gave Sturmhond a slow nod.

"You said you weren't Grisha," he said, voice disconcertingly even.

"Have you ever heard of a Grisha who can do what I just showed you?"

"No. But if you're not a Grisha, then what are you?"

"Someone who wants a job, Sturmhond. Working for you. Do I seem worth the extra effort now?"

After a moment, he crossed his arms and canted his head at me. "Are you on the run from someone, Alina?"

I blinked at him.

"You'll understand my suspicion at having someone with your skills dropped into my lap. More surprising is the fact that you need work at all."

"You know I would have figured a famous pirate to be a bit more of an opportunist," I remarked peevishly.

"There's a difference between an opportunist and someone stupid enough to walk into a setup."

"A setup for what?" I asked incredulously. "Giving you a secret weapon?"

"You could be a spy."

I snorted. "Now you're just insulting me."

"Fine. Fine. Then tell me why you're dressed in rags and look half starved when I know for a fact that the Darkling," I suppressed a shudder, "or the King of Ravka himself would impoverish half nation to get their hands on you."

I shrugged a shoulder petulantly. "I've never shown anyone else what I can do." It was close enough to the truth. Mal didn't count.

"Why?"

I huffed a breath, getting annoyed despite myself. "What would have happened to me if I had?" I asked more sharply than I intended. Forced into service, experimented on, sold for all I knew. . . . And that would have been _if_ I could have hidden the fact that I was a Summoner.

He said nothing else, so I shook my head, stymied. "I told you the truth. I'm a deserter. If I'm found, I'll be hung. If I show what I am to save my life, it's as good as gone, anyway. You have a few reputations, Sturmhond, and some of them were harder to track down than others. I'd never heard of you before a few months ago. But when I did, I started listening.

People hate you, they love you, they envy you, they fear you. But you don't hear rumors about other pirate captains being men who do seemingly patriotic things now and again. Who treat their crew fairly and don't care if they're not 'normal.' Frankly, you've treated me like a person and haven't tried to get me into bed, which after the months I've had, is a selling point in and of itself. And like I said, I don't hate my country. You don't seem to, either. If I don't work for you, the only option I have left is to try to scrape together enough gold to buy myself passage across the True Sea and never come back. Are those enough reasons for you?"

For a long, long moment, he just stared at me. So did everyone else on the deck. They'd all stopped what they were doing - one of the men in the rigging had even dropped to the deck so he could hear what was going on. Then Sturmhond uncrossed his arms and came up to me, stopping just inches away and holding my gaze. I couldn't tell if he was searching or challenging, but I made myself keep my shoulders back and not crumble under the look. I couldn't stop the thick swallow I took.

Abruptly, he held a hand out. "Welcome to the Volkvolny, Alina."

I gaped down at his hand, not quite believing that it was that easy after the fight he'd put up.

"Unless you've changed your mind in the last ten seconds," he added, sounding amused.

"No!" I hurried, gripping his hand and shaking it firmly. "No, I just. . . no." I laughed breathlessly and smiled up at him despite myself. To my surprise, he was smiling and it reached all the way up to his eyes, creasing the corners of the sun-soaked skin.

He stepped back again, still looking at me, his smile settling into a little grin. "Tamar!" he called.

The person who had looked over the railing for him came up and sketched a quick salute. Up close, she was most definitely a woman, but it was easy to confuse subtle things like gender with my net. "Kapitan," she said.

"Alina here will be bunking with you." His grin widened as if he was in on a joke. "And you get to train her."

". . . Da, Kapitan."

"Good," he boomed. "Now we really do need to pull anchor, so Alina, go find something else to eat so you don't faint before the day is out, and stay the hell out of the way. But pay attention."

"Of course," I stammered, and moved to do as I was told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tovarishch: original meaning was "business companion" or "travel (or other adventure) mate." 
> 
> Google translate apparently doesn't have the word "comrade" in its library, so I went spelunking into the interweb and Wikipedia gave me this word. Then I found comrade and verified that it did in fact basically mean "friend," buuuut by then I already liked tovarishch better.


	2. Chapter 2

I had taken to sitting on deck every night before bed – when I had day duty – and looking up at the stars. In camp, it had never been like this. There had been noise, the lights of fires, someone always looking over your shoulder. Out here, no one much cared what I did so long as I kept up my duties, and people seemed to know when you wanted to be alone, and they respected it. It was dark, it was quiet, and I sat for an hour sometimes just looking up, drawn to the points of light and dusted glow far up in the sky. Relaxed as had come to feel on the Volkvolny, it was hard not to call it to me sometimes. I compromised some nights by closing my eyes, face upturned, and just feeling the light of the stars around me, especially on new moons when the sunlight was all but gone from the night air. Starlight felt almost richer somehow, a subtle taste I almost had to reach for that the sun could never match with its warmth and fullness.

I still couldn't recognize many people on my net by their forms alone, but Sturmhond, with his size and ridiculous coat, had become easier to pick out than most. So when I felt someone approaching me, I knew who it was immediately. I heard him walk up and take a seat beside me, leaning his own back against the railing, one leg kicked out in front of him.

“You know,” he said conversationally, “I've heard that stargazing tends to be more effective with your eyes open.”

“A common misconception,” I replied. “But I won't hold it against you. You have so many other redeeming qualities, after all.”

I could hear the grin in his voice. “You are too kind, as ever.”

I snorted. “You wound me, Sturmhond. Keep those slanderous lies to yourself.”

I heard a breathy chuckle, and then we were both quiet for a time. I opened my eyes and, after a surreptitious glance at his profile, returned to taking in the sight above me.

It was too easy to feel. . . comfortable, here. Like I didn't have to be anything on this ship other than myself - which was saying something - and around Sturmhond in particular. He was a calm presence, smooth, and always had a joke or a quip at the ready. He didn't demand unless he had to. But still, there was no question who was in charge of the Volkvolny, or of the unquestionable loyalty of his crew. If the army had more commanders like him, Ravka might not still be at war.

“I'd like to know why you deserted, Alina,” Sturmhond said out of nowhere, and I couldn't quite make out what I heard in his voice.

I looked over at him curiously.

“I like to know the people I trust with my life,” he said simply, and after a level look at me, turned his own eyes up to the night sky.

I considered making any number of jokes, but thought better of it. His tone may be light, but the question and the likely reasons for asking it had to be anything but. As much as I had so quickly come to like it here, love it even, and wasn't that strange, it was easy to forget that to Sturmhond and his crew, I was still an unknown. Hardly an ideal situation on a “privateer’s” ship.

“It's really a rather boring story,” I hedged.

“I'm fine with that. I lead such an exciting life, sometimes I find boring rather refreshing. Breaks up all the adventure, you know. It’s like a palette cleanser.”

I shifted a little, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of telling him. I wasn't sure why. “. . . I just. . . didn't have a place there anymore,” I said slowly.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Bad breakup, then? Or unrequited love, perhaps?” He said it so simply.

I nearly choked. “Who said that?”

I caught his grin. “You did, just now. But you didn't have to, not really. There were few enough reasons left that I haven’t ruled out, and don’t the worst decisions always come down to matters of the heart? That’s how it works in all the stories, anyway. Besides, the way you look sometimes while you stare out at the sea. . . well it was as obvious as my stunning good looks. So? Who was the cad? Or cadess. As you will.”

I snorted. He waited patiently for me to speak.

“My best friend,” I said quietly, hurt and embarrassment and confusion all knotting up in me. “We grew up together. 

“. . . . I'd been in love with him since I was fifteen. Probably longer; fifteen was just when I realized it. I never said anything, not until the night I left, and I'm still not sure what made me do it. If I hadn't, I'd probably just be heading back to Eastern Ravka with the rest of our unit right about now. 

“I'm not confused about whose fault the whole mess was. I was the one who never spoke up. But when I finally did, the night before our eighth trip through the Fold, he said he didn't feel the same. And he punctuated that by heading off for a night with a pretty Grisha girl who'd taken an interest in him as she passed us on the Vy outside of Kribursk.”

I saw him cringe sympathetically out of the corner of my eye and heard a quiet hissed intake of breath.

“I honestly don't know what made me snap that night,” I went on. “I think it was a combination of a few things, and not all of them had anything to do with Mal-”

“Mal?” Sturmhond interrupted, surprised. “Not Oretsev. Mal Oretsev? The tracker?”

I laughed bitterly, unsurprised that even at sea, his name was known. He was practically a legend in the First Army. “The very same. But he wasn't famous to me, he was just Mal. I knew him when he was short and fat and used to get his knuckles rapped for sneaking me sweets when I wouldn't eat.”

Sturmhond was looking at me, and I was looking anywhere but at him. He made a thoughtful sound. “I hope you won't become violently offended when I point out that your famous childhood friend was a moron. You've gotten fairly good since you put on weight on started training with Tamar, and roguishly handsome as bruises make me look, purple isn't really my color. You hit hard enough when you were half-starved as it was.”

“I know,” I grinned. “I saw you shaking out your hand when you followed me back out onto the deck.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s frowned upon for a crewman to spy on their own captain.”

“You weren’t my captain at the time, captain,” I replied with a sideways wink.

He huffed a chuckle. “As I was saying, you know how beautiful you are. Yes, you're also short-tempered, surly, glib, contrary, downright truculent when you're-”

“I thought you were arguing for me, not against,” I interrupted peevishly.

His lips quirked into one of the smiles I had come to love. “My point is, you're hardly a refined noblewoman, no. You're not delicate. But in my experience, 'delicate' is nothing more than a polite word for 'useless.' No man with half a brain wants the sort of woman who’s all guile and charm and grooming, as I’d wager you’d find from that Grisha he wandered off with. In the end, that sort is good for nothing but spending your coin and warming your bed. 

“That's fine for some, but anyone worth their salt - worth a woman something like you, more to the point - wants someone who has a mind of her own. Who'll tell him when he's being an idiot, who'll publicly humiliate him from time to time to keep him on his toes. A woman who gives as good as she gets, a partner in crime.”

I blinked at him, surprised. I could count on a few fingers the number of men I'd met who shared his view on the subject, and my heart fluttered strangely at finding out that he was one of them.

“So yes,” he went on. “You're difficult. And you have the fuse of a cat that’s about to be dropped into a tub of water. But you're also intelligent. You have a wit that's sharp and biting when you want it to be, and more impressively you know when you keep your mouth shut just as well as when someone needs a swift kick. You're tougher than many of the men I've known, but you're also kind. At least when no one's looking,” he amended with a grin.

“Top all that off with a face and figure that are almost as good as mine. . . .” He sighed as if beleaguered. “The only logical conclusion to draw is that your friend is a hopeless and irredeemable moron.” 

He chuckled. “Saints, I can't imagine being faced with you every day for the majority of my life and not making it my sworn mission to sweep you off your feet. Provided I could get you there before your fist made it to my jaw. I can't imagine you as a child, either. You must have been a holy terror.”

He was looking up at the stars again, smiling to himself, and even in the moonlight I could see the hairline creases at the corner of his eye, made more obvious by years of sun and salt spray. For just about the first time I could ever remember, I had no idea what to say.

As if he realized what he'd just said, the smile dropped from his face and I saw him tense almost imperceptibly. He didn't move otherwise. I could hardly breathe, waiting to see what he would say next. I hadn't imagined his words. But even if he'd been serious, admiration didn't mean. . . he had only been making a point, not saying that he _did_ want to sweep me off my feet. . . . Right? I felt a knife's twist in the space in my chest that Mal used to occupy.

I ducked my chin to hide my own face and cleared my throat. “As I'm sure the only reason you haven't been carried off by some lusty merchant's daughter is your obvious preference for planks and sails and heaving waves over heaving bosoms.”

I saw him relax fractionally, as if he'd been holding his breath. “I wouldn't say that,” he ventured, and though his voice sounded perfectly smooth, I would have sworn there was an edge of tension to it. “You'd be surprised the number of merchant's daughters who want everything _but_ a ring and a commitment.” He made a mournful sound. “I can't blame them though, really.” His hand stroked the line of his jaw to illustrate his point.

“No, you know more than anything, I bet it's your humility that gets to them,” I said. “Really, Sturmhond, you're such a paragon of the virtues in general that I'll bet you could be Apparat some day. Think of all the scandals you could start with the women at court.”

He chuckled as if at a joke I couldn't see. “Like I said. Noblewomen are more trouble than they're worth.”

“Well now that's awfully snobbish of you. And here I thought you were open-minded.”

“Open-minded and blind are worlds apart, lovely.”

I felt the rest of the tension leave me – if he was comfortable enough to go back to his nicknames, then everything would be fine.

“Seeing how very sage it makes me look to leave my people with nuggets of wisdom,” he said, pushing himself up, “I will take that as my cue. Ah, but Alina?”

I looked up at him, face half in shadow, half lit by the moon. “At the risk of over-stating, don't mistake one man's blindness for a summary of your worth. I know you're smarter than that, but I also know that we all have our blind spots, and if a torch you've held all your life getting snuffed out isn't one, I don't know what is. I've been all over the world, I've seen and done things I'd rather take to my grave, and I can honestly tell you: you're one of the good ones. Especially when you don't look like you want to murder someone for taking the last piece of fruit.”

I looked up at him, no idea what was on my face. He held my gaze for a moment, then sketched a shallow bow and made his way to his cabin, boots sounding quietly across the deck, whistling that off-tune melody he favored.

“I trust you’ve found the evening’s entertainment to your liking and can now get back to work with renewed vigor, Kozovna,” he called over his shoulder. “Which is fortunate, seeing as how the washing is backed up and needs someone to see to it before the end of the night.”

I cringed sympathetically as Kozovna, hidden behind the sails as he had slowed and then stopped his work so he could listen to us hastened back to his duties. I supposed I couldn't fault him for listening - the people onboard were nosy as anyone else, they were just discreet, too. 


	3. Chapter 3

We seemed to wind up having nighttime chats alone together more often. It was always out in the open, there was never anything that could be mistaken for impropriety - Tamar said Sturmhond never touched crew - but there was something about it I found myself looking forward to. When he wasn't captain, when he was just Sturmhond, he was so easy to be with. Conversation flowed so well that hours would pass before I realized it. More than one morning I had to hold back the urge to threaten whoever woke us.  I shared a bunk, if you could call a room the size of a large wardrobe a "bunk," with Tamar. Until I could do anything on my own - poorly, more often than not - she and I were often together all hours of the day and night. She was a steady sort of presence, quiet but sharp and attentive. She didn't waste words and had a dry humor, which of course I appreciated. 

“Does it ever occur to you that people might know why you joke so much?” I asked idly of Sturmhond. We were on the quarterdeck tonight, which was the raised part at the back of the ship where the wheel sat, above Sturmhond's quarters.

“My boundless charm and wit? Hardly a state secret, lovely. And generally considered more of an asset than a piece of high-risk information.”

“No.” I gazed at him levelly, not reacting to the prodding compliment. Then I looked down. “I found something in a book once that I've never forgotten. Maybe because I thought it felt so familiar. 'Born of the sorrowful of heart, mirth was a crown upon his head; pride kept his twisted lips apart in jest, to hide a heart that bled.'” I waited, and when he said nothing, I finished the thought. “People who are whole and happy don't joke like we do. I just wondered if it ever bothered you that someone might see the card you were playing.”

Sturmhond was quiet then, and it was by far the longest I had ever heard the man go without saying something. “I hardly have to tell you how few people really pay attention, do I? Besides,” he added with a shrug, “there are worse covers.”

I nodded absently. “Like funny _and_ cranky?”

“Or funny and irresistible.”

“Funny and obnoxious? Funny and narcissistic? Over-blown ego, too much confidence, not nearly as handsome as he thinks he is?”

“You forgot the 'funny and' part of those last three.”

“Did I, though?”

“People who are in the middle of the ocean and can't swim shouldn't poke fun at men who can push them overboard without a second thought.”

“I don't have to be able to swim to be assured of my safety.”

“Oh? Is levitation another one of your secret powers? Because if so, I can think of several ways to make that work for me.”

“Who said anything about powers? All I have to do is take you with me when I go down.”

“Ahh, Alina, so cutthroat.” He sounded almost proud.

 

* * * * *

 

She picked up a pistol from her lap under the table and pointed it at Sturmhond, pulling the trigger back with a click.

The hush of swords being pulled from scabbards and the click of more pistols could be heard, but Sturmhond held up a hand, and they were reluctantly replaced.

“I know I haven't been doing this quite as long as you, sudarynya,” he said, “but in my experience, guns are usually reserved for a point further on in the negotiations process.”

“You have a reputation,” she said in her thick accent with the shrug of a shoulder. “Your crew has a reputation. You also get in the way of business. I'd much rather be the one to say I took you down than argue over some little trade.”

I heard the sound of large hammers being pulled into place behind us.

My eyes slid closed and I cursed silently. I hadn't had my net up – why would I? But I did now, and we were heavily outnumbered. At least eight men had rifles pointed at our backs.

We weren't going to get out of this.

Subtly, I leaned in to Tamar and uttered through tight lips, “Be ready to run.”

Her only reply was an almost imperceptible nod.

I let out a near-silent frustrated growl as Sturmhond continued to try - and fail - to talk his way out of this.

 _Saints take it,_ I thought, and shouted, “Close your eyes!”

Before the withered portmaster could properly yell at me to shut up, I summoned a blinding explosion of light directly in the center of the room, then closed it back off and shouted for Sturmhond and my fellow crewmen to run. There was only the smallest moment's disorientation before we were off. I flung a hand behind me, calling another burst of light into the room to buy us time as our boots clapped down the hall and out into the street. At Sturmhond's order, we scattered. I tried to follow Tamar, but he grabbed my arm and yanked me along with him down a dusty side road.

“I thought you said you weren't Grisha!” he said around the sounds of our feet beating a rhythm on the packed earth. He was angry, and he was focused. But there was a glint of something else underneath, and I could see his sharp mind already looking ten moves ahead.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I panted.

“Stuff it, Alina, you just lit that room up like a flash bomb.”

“A what?” I asked, brow furrowing.

He growled. I had never seen him so uncomposed. “You know what I mean. You told me you weren't Grisha.”

“No,” I said around fast breaths, “what I said was, 'I didn't say I _was_ Grisha,' and 'have you ever heard of a Grisha who can do what I just showed you.' Is now really the time to be arguing semantics?” A bullet flew past at that moment, grazing my arm. I cried out around a curse and stumbled, hand clapping over the wound. Sturmhond slowed to help me, but I was already righting myself and waved him on.

We came to an alley - I grabbed his ridiculous coat and yanked him into the space between buildings. We ran to the end and I whipped around, casting us out of sight with a flip of my fingers.

Sturmhond made a noise in his throat. “Brilliant plan, Alina," he uttered. "Unless you remember that we're trying to make it _harder_ for them to catch up.”

I clapped my hand to his mouth, eyes riveted on the column of light at the head of they alley. “They won't be able to see us,” I whispered, so close that my lips brushed his ear, trying to hush my panting breaths, “but unless they've miraculously gone deaf, they will hear us if you don't shut up for once in your Saints-damned life.”

His eyes widened and he turned to look at me, but my own were still riveted on the head of the alley. The stomp of the men's boots grew louder, and just as they rounded the corner, I let my hand slip from Sturmhond's lips. We hardly even breathed.

“You said they came in here!” One man yelled in a low voice.

“You don't have eyes?” Another snapped back angrily. “You were staring at the same two backs I was!”

“How can you lose someone in that saintsforsaken bright color?”

“I don't know, just move. Split up, they won't have gotten far yet.”

In a clatter, the men hurried away. After a long moment, both Sturmhond and I sagged, strangled breaths puffing out of us. I let my back fall against a filthy wall. I noticed the alley smelled strongly of urine.

“Any other clever tricks in your arsenal I might like to know about?” He asked.

“That depends,” I answered coolly.

“On?”

“How long you have. I'm an orphan, Sturmhond, and I grew up with a best friend who liked to get into every kind of trouble imaginable. We had years of motivation to get inventive.”

Whether from strain or stress or sheer, idiot relief, we both crumbled and broke into laughter. Until my arm bumped the wall and I hissed, remembering my wound. I looked over, on the side opposite Sturmhond, to find a thick trail of blood soaking the outside of my sleeve all the way down and discovered that I had been more than nicked. I was a little lightheaded, in fact.

“. . . Well that's impressive,” I said just as I felt a fat drop of blood fall from one of my fingertips. “Apparently running for your life makes an excellent painkiller. We should tell the world. We'll be able to retire within the year.”

Sturmhond moved around to my other side to get a look. In my haze, I thought I saw his face go tight and. . . no. Worried? Sturmhond didn't do worried.

“Much as I do like varied streams of revenue, how about we make sure you don't bleed to death first. Can you keep us out of sight?”

“Not forever, but long enough to get to the ship. Provided I don't pass out. I'm thinking that,” I nodded to the trail of blood spots marring the otherwise pristine ground of the alley where we'd come in, and the small pool forming at my feet, “goes on for a little way. I feel like I downed too much kvas on an empty stomach.”

“Best get you back sooner rather than later, then," he said tightly. "Come on.” He held an arm out to me. He took one of my arms over his shoulders and held it there by my wrist, and wrapped his other arm around my waist. “Like that. There you go.” cast us back out of sight, then sagged against him unintentionally with a sudden wave of dizziness. It was so sharp that I didn't even feel him lift me into his arms and take off at a jog.

“Hey," I protested weakly, "put me down. I'm not a damn girl.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No, Alina, you certainly are not," he whispered against my ear. "Just concentrate on keeping us out of sight. You'll forgive my forwardness, I just assumed it would be easier for you to do if you were conscious. And unless you like making people think their little town is haunted, you might also want to save the conversation for another time, fun as I'm sure you'd be to talk to while delirious.”

“. . . Ass,” I muttered. I let my head fall against his shoulder.

 

* * * * *

 

Sturmhond came in and exchanged quiet words with Dennet, a Corporalki Healer, before the man let himself out and the captain took up the seat by my cot. For a long time, he watched me and I carefully looked anywhere but at him.

“Here's normally where I'd say something leading like 'So, it seems you've been keeping secrets,' but that becomes sort of moot in this line of work. All the same, I can honestly say I've never come across one as impressive as yours.”

A muscle in my jaw twitched and I turned my face further away from him toward a tiny porthole in the side of the ship. “What happens now?” I asked.

“Who says anything has to happen?”

My head snapped toward him. “What?”

He smiled. “So she can be caught off guard.”

I scowled, but that only widened his smile. I wanted to throw something at his stupid, perfect teeth.

“One of the reasons you came to me was because I treat Grisha the same as I treat everyone else, right?”

I shifted myself to sit further up on the cot. “Yes, but I'm hardly a normal Grisha, am I? Everyone knows the legends. But I couldn't even summon light at night until I was almost twenty. I've been in the Fold eight times now. There's nothing I can do against it. I couldn't erase a square millimeter of it if I tried for a year.”

He nodded readily enough. “I don't blame you." I wondered if he meant it. "Especially not having some idea how much you value your freedom. What the Darkling or the King would have done to get their hands on you. . . .” He shook his head.

A thought occurred to me, spearing me with a jolt of fear. “You're not going to turn me in? You're not stupid, Sturmhond, you have to know how much you could get for me. You could start a bidding war between Ravka, Shu Han, Fjerda, and Kerch. You could sink this ship with that much gold.”

He laughed. “I think you might have our roles here confused. Traditionally, I would be the one scheming over this and you'd be the one trying to talk me out of it. Besides, I prefer jewels. Much more shiny. And when they're bug enough," he added brightly, "I can see myself in them."

I looked away. “I just don't want to be blindsided. I'd rather you tell me the truth and chain me up to keep me in line than betray me in the end when I'm not expecting it.”

“My dearest Alina, you _are_ a very beautiful woman, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it. But I hardly know you well enough to break out the chains.”

Despite myself, I blushed. As usual, I was so flustered by it that I felt my cheeks grow hotter still in frustration. Tentatively, not quite wanting to feel hopeful, I looked at him out of the corners of my eyes to find a cocky grin in place. “You're a pirate.”

“Privateer.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. You don't do sob stories, and you don't take on a threat unless you have something worthwhile to gain from it. I'd be worth a fortune handed over, so why are you pretending you're not going to? A shoddy deckhand doesn't outweigh profits like that, surely.”

He looked at me, and the serious light I rarely saw in his eyes slid into place. “Who says I don't have more to gain by keeping you with me than any fortune could be worth?”

I felt some of the blood drain from my face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, and the cool pirate was back in place. “In the span of five minutes, I saw you blind a group of men who wanted to kill us and turn two people invisible. You held that while you were passing out from blood loss. I've known a lot of Grisha with a lot more training than you have, fail to hold up under much better circumstances. That was on top of how invaluable you've proven at reconnaissance, and you'd be worth the trouble for that alone. I'd say you have what could arguably be called a valuable skill set. Especially in my line of work.”

He paused. “I won't hold you against your will, Alina. You're still a member of my crew. You're not a prisoner, and you're not merchandise. I don't deal in human traffic, no matter the prize. You're free to go if you like, just like anyone else on board." He paused again and looked me in the eyes. "But I hope you won't.”

A brash grin spread over his face. “Frankly I might have had a giddy fit or two thinking about what two minds like ours, with your powers, could come up with. The havoc we could wreak,” he said as if starry-eyed. “I can scarcely imagine more fun. Or profit. I'd say we'll be making that ship-sinking fortune look like it couldn't take down more than a paper boat.”

I snorted. I liked Sturmhond. I even trusted him. He may be a pirate and he may bend the rules to the point of shattering them, but he had more honor than I'd seen in most of the Commanders all the years I'd been in the army. I wasn't ready to believe he was holding onto me for altruistic reasons, but as long as his ship was a safe place for me. . . well, in the outside world, I was still a nobody orphan and a deserter. The fact was that this was still my best bet.

He was picking an imaginary piece of lint off his cuff and straightening the sleeve, but I felt like he was paying more attention to me than anything. “In fact, I'll tell you what. Since you outed yourself to save me, I'll offer you a secret in turn, if you'll promise to keep it between us.”

I nodded before I could even think about it, and far too eagerly.

He looked up at me, hazel eyes catching the glint of the lamp on the wall above my cot. “My name,” he said, and his smooth voice was quiet and serious. “Nikolai.”

I swallowed. It suited him, somehow. But the last thing I would do was compliment him on it. “Nice to meet you, Nikolai. I'm Alina Starkov.”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “Starkov. Good name.”

"You're going to try to tell me you didn't know already know it?"

He shrugged, his cocky grin spreading over his face. "It was ready and waiting for me the first time we anchored at a Ravkan port after you joined up. Not many Alinas who disappeared in Kribursk recently. But it's still a good name."

I rolled my eyes. “You know if you're trying to compliment your way onto my luxury cot here, you're going to have to do better than that. I had to get shot for these prime accommodations, and I don't like to share.”

He grinned. “Noted, Alina.” Something about the way he shaped my name made me suppress a little shiver. But my face must have colored again, because the smile grew.

I scoffed. “Get out. Hasn't anyone ever told you sick people need their rest? I just took a bullet for you.”

“You're right. And since you did, I won't point out that since this is my ship, you might not want to try telling me where I can't go.”

“Bad ideas are my bread and water, kapitan.”

His smile was nearly a radiant thing, if only for a moment. “No wonder I like you.”

Gooseflesh rose on my arms at the odd feeling of pleasure those words illicited. Of all the people. . . . This arrogant pirate was the last person I would consider dallying with.

Well, the last person I would _decide_ to dally with, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote by Countee Cullen


	4. QA

“Why _didn’t_ you? Turn yourself in, I mean.”

I stared at him like he was an idiot.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t mean that. You want to be free. That’s admirable, and if anyone can understand it, it’s me.” I didn’t know what it was, but something in his face made me believe him. His past seemed to be one big blank spot, and he always found a way to change the subject when asked. “But freedom comes with a price, and it’s usually an empty stomach and an early grave. You looked like you were good friends with at least one of those when you found me. You have to know that you’d be treated like a Queen as Ravka’s Sun Summoner. You would have anything you wanted. You’d have things you didn’t even _think_ to want. And speaking of Queen, for all you know, the prince might propose to you on sight.”

My face screwed up as if someone had just heaped fresh dung onto my plate. “Who are you talking to? My temper would plunge us even deeper in to war if anyone was stupid enough to put me in charge of anything. I wouldn’t argue with the soft bed or good food, but I wouldn’t begin to know what to do with myself there. I’m a peasant. A private, secretive peasant. I mean really, can you imagine me in gowns, politicking with the nobility?”

He made a dubious sound. “I think you’d be surprised,” he said easily. “You’re clever, you’re tough, and you think well on your feet. You’ve managed to not be utterly charmed by me,” he said, and Saints be merciful, he sounded serious, “and to be frank, Alina, I’ve met my share of nobility. Physical violence and threats of bodily harm may be exactly what the court needs to get off their asses. Or at least pull their heads out of them long enough to notice the state of the world,” he added drily.

He looked at me and his expression shifted. His eyes swept the length of me. “And as for the gowns... well, they’d be optional. But I for one wouldn’t complain about the view in the least.”

“...You’re disgusting.”

“I’m roguish and charming.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Only when it’s called for.”

I just made a disgusted noise.

 

* * * * *

 

I finally snap. “Ok, what are you doing?”

Sturmhond was bent over a map of Ravka and its shores. He looked up at me, hands resting on the table. “Not trying to be coy, for one thing. I haven’t usually found asking someone for their opinion in plain language to be confusing.”

I glared at him. “Are you just hoping I’d bat my eyes and say, ‘You’re right, Mr. handsome pirate, how silly of me’ and go back to the discussion, dismissing the fact that you’ve been acting like a complete lunatic?”

A ridiculous grin cut over his face. “You think I’m handsome?”

I rolled my eyes and put fingers to my temples. “You are such an ass.”

“That’s hardly any way to speak to your captain, Starkov.”

“Stop calling me that,” I growled.

“But it’s so endearing. Besides, I only do it in private. Last I checked, wooden planks, maps and various curios don’t care if you deserted the army. Neither would my crew, for that matter. But a privateer knows how to respect a secret.”

“...You’re actually going to make me spell it out, aren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.

Sturmhond straightened, keeping fingertips on the table, and looked at me with a mix of curiosity and that Saintsforsaken unflappable mirth. He was a cocky bastard. Strange, though, was the hint of challenge there. It was less than a whisper, easily written off as something else, but it was there.

“I’m an orphan. I didn’t hold any position of note in the army. I’m crabby and miserly and not half as skilled as most of the people on your crew.”

“What happened to a blank slate having infinite value?”

“My point is,” I snap, “why is it you’re suddenly asking _me_ for my opinion about the best use for these supplies? Why did you want an idea from me about that Saintsforsaken blockade we took down? Why are you dropping some pearl of wisdom about command or strategy or poise every other time you see me? Why are you asking me about clothing and telling me political anecdotes and asking my opinion about munitions and relief efforts and the allocations of funds in a nation? And why are you calling on me so much? I swear to every Saint, Sturmhond--”

“Nikolai.”

“What?” I snapped.

“When we’re in private, I’d like you to use my real name. I don’t trust many people with it, so it’s not something I get to hear often. Especially not from a lovely voice.”

I narrowed my eyes at him even as heat crept up my cheeks. “Yeah, and that’s another thing. Why do you keep talking to me like that?”

“Like what?”

“All low and... rumbly. And you keep touching me. And standing too close,” I added, glaring at the scant distance between us pointedly. “Privyet, _Nikolai,_ gave me a baleful look yesterday. _Baleful!_ Privyet! He half looked like he wanted to cry and half pitch me over the side of the ship! Two days ago, Tamar came out and asked me if you and I were shacking up!”

A wide smile broke over his face, all white teeth and bright eyes and sunlight glinting off his immaculate blonde hair. “How scandalous.”

“...You are not half as funny as you think you are.”

“Of course I am.”

I plopped my face into the palm of one of my hands. “I hate you. I hate you so much.”

"You can't possibly. You just pointed out how charming I was."

"That was you."

“Was it? That doesn't sound right. Still, I am still your savior. Your benefactor, your beacon of hope in an unkind world!”

I looked at him flatly for a moment. Then I turned and headed for the door.

His boots clapped over the floor as he hurried forward and caught my elbow. He left his hand on my arm until I turned around. And he mirrored it with his second once I was facing him.

“I live and breathe secrets, Alina,” he said. His face and voice were more serious than I had yet to hear them. It knocked me off balance enough that I really listened. “I work exclusively with people who live and breathe secrets. You and I both know you could have run by now. It would have been the smart thing to do, after what I saw. After what you let me see in order to save our lives. The rumor is _still_ burning like a wildfire on every continent. But you did, and you stayed.” He paused. “You trusted me.”

My cheeks heated again and I averted my eyes in consternation. I thought of several replies and discarded them all as stupid or just not good enough. I didn’t know what to do with Sturmhond when he was serious. I’d only seen it twice, and it only happened before someone died or lost an appendage. Granted, the guy had been asking for it, but still.

“Trust isn’t just rare in this business, it’s rare anywhere you go in the world. And it usually gets you killed. You’re smart. You’re a survivor.” He paused, and his voice quieted to something that seemed more suited to a much smaller space. “But you stayed. Why?”

He still held my elbows, and when I looked up at him, there was something in his eyes I had never seen before, like he had peeled layers of armor back. Like I was seeing the person behind the name for the first time. My mouth gummed up.

My fingers curled into my palms when I realized there was something else there, too. He looked like... like he wanted to lean in closer. Very much. But no. No, this was Sturmhond. He didn’t tumble his crew, and a tumble was the closest he ever got to a woman. He kept himself back, always.

When I didn’t answer, he took a step closer and I swallowed thickly.

“I thought maybe it was because you didn’t think you had anywhere else to go,” he rumbled. His voice was quiet and too warm, too familiar. “But I’ve seen you these past months. You have more mettle than anyone I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. You’re iron. You’re Grisha steel. And you’re much more smart than you want people to believe. You learn quickly, and you don’t let anyone take advantage of you. Maybe you thought my ship was your only option when you went looking for me, but that isn’t true any more. Is it?”

I looked away again. He sighed and with a warm, gentle hand, he cupped my chin and tilted it up to him. “The thing about trust, Alina, is that it seems to beget trust. It blooms in its own company. No one has ever trusted me with something like this. A good reputation is one thing, and I’m grateful it brought you to my ship. But what has made you _stay?”_

I swallowed audibly. All I could do, meeting his suddenly intent stare, was manage, “Where else would I find such luxurious accommodations?” My voice sounded small.

“What if I told you I was glad you stayed?”

I snorted, and he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Not the captain. Well, not _just_ the captain,” he amended with a twitch of his lips. Then he went utterly sober before saying, “I’m talking about the man.”

Started, I jerked back, and he let his hands fall away.

“In my line of business,” he said, his voice silken and low, “you learn to recognize treasure. I knew you were special. But you didn’t run. I expected you to, I really did. When you showed me what you were, when you trusted me with that, and you didn’t run, it changed everything.”

Sudden understanding pooled into my veins, reaching out like a black ichor. My face went carefully neutral and detached.

He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Not like that, not like that. I’m not going to pretend for a second that what you can do is any less than invaluable, but it’s also not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about _you._ The woman. _You_ are the treasure, Alina.”

“What in the actual hell are you trying to get at? And failing, might I add.”

He pursed his lips as if in consternation, then tilted his head down, slid his hands onto my hips, and his lips met mine.

For a moment all I could do was stare in wide-eyed shock. But his lips were warm and soft and certain, his hands steady and grounding. I couldn’t help it. My eyelids flickered closed as my eyes rolled back.

He pulled away a hair’s breadth and hesitated, just for a moment, as if testing. Then he came back in and the kiss quickly deepened. It wasn’t asking or demanding, it wasn’t feverish, it didn’t say to me ‘I expect this is going to go somewhere,’ and I don’t know how he managed that, because I was pulled flush against him, his strong arms wrapped around me until our breathing grew fast and heavy. I slipped my fingers into the hair at the back of his head.

I had never felt this before. This spark of fire that burned and pulled inward at the same time, the electric sensitivity of every inch of my skin, the way every breath and sound was magnified, the way my heart pumped something that was freezing and scalding at the same time, and the way it felt as if it was shooting into the air. Everywhere he touched me, the sensation so pleasurable that it was physically painful.

All at once, I remembered why I didn’t know what this felt like. I remembered the times I’d tried to feel _anything_ like this, certain that a kiss was meant to contain a spark, that a touch was supposed to wake something in me. Because I had only ever wanted one person. Only one person had ever made my heart pound like this, or my gut ache this way. I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t.

I shoved away from Sturmhond, and I could feel the deep crease between my brows as I stared, breathing hard.

Suddenly, I was angry. Furious. I expressed that by snapping my arm back and sending my knuckles flying into his face. There was a crunch.

I turned and left as fast as I could, ignoring him when he called my name and asked me to wait. I went straight to the bunk I shared with Tamar and slammed the door behind me, ignoring the curious and worried glances I passed on the way.

I cursed silently for a good five minutes. We were making land soon. Maybe it really was time I move on.

 

* * * * *

 

“Captain wants to see you, Alina,” Tamar said lightly. I looked up to find her leaning against the door frame with a mouth full of apple and an entirely too knowing look on her face.

“I have to wash my hair,” I said flatly.

“You already washed your hair this week.”

“Pirate hygiene is sorely lacking.”

“So is fresh water. But if you’d like, I can always make an excuse for you and you can tell me what happened last time you were in his quarters, instead.” She sounded so sincere, I actually considered it. But what was I supposed to do? Tamar and I got along well enough. True, she’d been acting a little funny around me since I’d outed myself, but that was true of everyone who found out - which was a surprisingly small number of the crew, as it happened. Sometimes I even thought we might be friends. But Sturmhond was God on this ship, and no one was going to believe the new girl when she said he had made a pass at her. The truth was, until I had a plan, I had nowhere else to go, and I wasn’t going to jeopardize that.

So after a long pause, all I said was, “He insulted my greasy hair.” Then I brushed past her and went to face the music.

 

* * * * *

 

He was standing with his back to me, looking out the window.

“We make land in Ravka in less than a week,” he said. There was something oddly reserved in his voice. On anyone else it would have sounded light and natural, but not on him.

That we would dock soon was something everyone onboard knew, so I just leaned back against the door, crossed my arms churlishly, and waited for him to go on. Except he didn’t. His head hung a little, in fact. A long, slow breath made his shoulders swell and then sink back down. His posture was disgustingly good.

“There’s something you should know before we do,” he finally said.

His tone set bugs creeping all over my skin, bugs with tiny, pinching feet made of ice. I had told him, after all, that I would want to see it coming, and there was no other reason for pulling me in here and talking to me like this.

So why had he kissed me?

And why had I kissed him back?

Because I was a moron, obviously.

He turned around, clasping his hands behind his back, and what I saw on his face made my blood fairly stop in my veins. He almost looked _nervous._ Suddenly I wanted to pinch myself hard, because this had to be some kind of bizarre dream. Maybe he had already locked me up. Maybe I’d been in irons since our run-in with the crooked port master and I was having some sort of fear-delusion. Awfully strange choice of comforting vision, though.

"You said part of the reason you went looking for me was that you still cared about Ravka," he said, bringing me out of my spiral. "That you wanted to help. Is that true?"

"Yeeess," I said uncertainly.

"What if I told you there was a way you could help infinitely more than being a faceless crew member in a privateer's fleet?" After a moment he added, with an echo of his usual grin, "Even a roguishly handsome privateer."

That was the last nail in the coffin. Fractals of ice began to grow in my veins, but I kept it carefully from my face.

"And that it wouldn't involve handing yourself over to the Darkling or the King," he amended. He looked nothing but sincere. My brows pinched together.

“I want to tell you who I am, Alina, who I really am. My last name.” He paused, and my confusion obviously showed on my face, because he gave me a sympathetic little smile. He gestured to a chair at his desk, and after a moment, I cautiously walked forward and sat down. Once I was settled, he did the same. His posture would only look relaxed if you didn't know how to read people as well as I did. As well as I had needed to learn to so I could stay hidden.

He took a moment, then said, “My name is Nikolai Lantsov.”

I froze. Then before I could so much as think, a bark of laughter tore its way from my throat. I slapped a hand over my mouth. But then I took in his expression, and it dropped away slowly.

“You’re out of your mind,” I breathed, incredulous.

In reply, he pushed back enough to open a small drawer on his desk. He fished around for a good minute, then set something small and heavy in front of me. I didn’t look down right away, still taking in his expression, but when I did, I saw a large ring. It looked like Grisha steel. And on its top was the royal seal of Ravka.

I blanched.

“No,” I managed. “You stole this. What are you doing? What game are you playing?”

He shook his head. "I'm not playing. Sturmhond is an alias I took up because I couldn’t stand sitting on my backside every day in lofty halls and writing papers on the history of the Kruge. You may notice I’m not terribly good at staying still. I served in the army,” I knew that to be true of the real Nikolai Lantsov. He was famous for it in the First Army. Rumor was he had actually been a decent man, “then I studied with shipwrites and gunmakers and experts in everything from farming to engineering. Sturmhond is a mask that lets me do things I never could as Ravka's second son. But that is who I am, underneath,” he said, utterly serious. “Nikolai Lantsov, Major of the Twenty-Second Regiment, Soldier of the King’s Army, Grand Duke of Udova... and second son to His Most Royal Majesty, King Alexander the Third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne.”

I opened my mouth. Then I closed it. This happened several times before he spoke up again.

“Only a few people onboard know, or ever would know. It wasn’t something I made a habit of spreading around, as you can imagine. Nikolai the prince is worth much more on the sea as a hostage than a privateer. But as Sturmhond....”

As Sturmhond, he could do anything he wanted. He could smuggle ammunition and supplies. He could break a Fjerdan blockade without creating an international incident. He could broker quiet trade deals and hire illegal Grisha with impunity.

I wanted to push away from the desk. I wanted to stand up, blow the door open, and swim back to land if I had to. But I didn’t do any of those things. I just looked from him, down to the ring in my fingers.

It was lunacy. It absolutely was lunacy. It had to be. And yet....

And yet.

“Wh--” My voice came out choked off, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “Why are you--” I broke off. _Why are you telling me this?_ I was going to ask. But I thought I understood perfectly. He wanted to take me home as a prize. The second son, currying favor by discovering and handing over the Sun Summoner of legend. And as he'd just pointed out, we were headed back to Ravka now.

My only option was to run. I resolved to do so the moment we got there.

But again, he saw through the facade that had always fooled everyone else, because he held his hands up in a calming gesture. “It isn’t what you think, Alina. I’ll keep you safe.”

I just nodded. I didn’t believe a word out of his mouth.

“I give you my word.”

Saints take me, there was something in his face that made me think, just for a second, that maybe he meant it. Or at least he _thought_ he meant it. But no one was immune to the call of power. It was why I'd hidden what I was from everyone I'd ever known. Everyone except the man I'd left behind.

“Listen,” I said. “I don’t believe you, for the record. I’m pretty sure you’re probably just a lunatic. But for the sake of argument, let’s say _hypothetically_ that any part of me bought this. How exactly do you plan on denying the King when he orders me into service? If I’m not identified as a deserter first. Or the Darkling, when he tries to claim me as a Grisha? You’re clever, and you’re charming, enough to have made me think you were perfectly-- well, mostly sane. But Nikolai Lantsov isn’t even the Crowned Prince, and even if he were, that doesn’t trump King or Darkling.”

“I am the second son, yes,” he said, like it was the most natural, the most true thing in the world. “But I have a plan that should give us a bit of latitude.”

I laughed, incredulous. “What 'us?' There is no ‘us,’ Sturmhond!”

He pursed his lips, then abruptly got up from his desk and walked to the door. I twisted around to follow him. He opened it, poked his head out, and said a few quiet words to someone. In a short moment, there was a set of running footsteps, and Privyet was in the room. He saluted while Sturmhond closed the door.

“Privyet,” the captain said. “Would you be so kind as to tell Alina my real name?”

Privyet glanced uncertainly at Sturmhond, and when the man gave him a tiny nod, turned to me, straightened his back, and said, “Nikolai Lantsov. Second son of Ravka.”

I snorted. Privyet looked scandalized.

“All that proves is that you sold him on the same lie you’re trying to sell me,” I said.

Privyet went red and took a step forward, his mouth open to shout at me. But Sturmhond put a restraining hand on his chest and, eyes on me, said, “That will be all for now, thank you.”

The man looked between him and me, then sketched a quick bow and left.

This time when Sturmhond closed the door, he didn’t move from in front of it. “You're smart, Alina, so think about it for a moment. Do I really look like a privateer?”

That was the problem. I _was_ thinking about it. Sturmhond had eerily good teeth and shining hair and healthy skin, like he’d been well-fed and protected from disease his whole life. He had uncommonly good posture and a large vocabulary, both of which only became more pronounced the more distracted he was. He was just as much at ease around a noble as he was a merchant lord or a group of criminals. The natural conclusion was hardly that he was a runaway prince, but he was almost definitely of the nobility. Or, given his looks, Grisha. But I had never seen or heard one whisper of him using any powers, and if he hid them, all he'd look was sick and weak. I'd learned that the hard way as a child.

"Nikolai Lantsov is in Ketterdam attending the university," I said.

He nodded. "There's an exceptionally well-compensated shipping clerk sitting through my mathematics class as we speak. Gets passable grades, answers to Nikolai, drinks copiously and often so no one gets suspicious."

“This is insane,” I muttered to myself.

“Then you’re really going to like the next part.”

A muscle in my jaw jumped over and over before I managed to look at him again. If a look could turn a man to stone... well.

He met my stare, then looked down as if gathering his thoughts. “I don’t know how much of this you’ll believe, but I promise you that every word is true and sincere.” He looked back to me, his face somber. “I always knew that whatever marriage I had would be political." I went cold. "I didn't plan on having much say on the matter, in fact. So I never took anything too seriously.” Any relationship, I knew he meant. “There would be no point, and in the end, everyone would only end up hurt. There was that, and there was the fact that I never, under any circumstances, touched my crew.” He paused, then said more quietly, his eyes on mine serious, “No matter how much I might have found myself coming to want to.”

Saints help me, if I believed nothing else out of his mouth today, I believed that, and despite what had happened in the last five minutes, it still made something deep and heavy in my stomach shift. It brought back the feel of his arms around me and his hair between my fingers.

“When I found out who you really were, Alina, everything changed. I'd like to claim it took me longer than I would have liked to put things together, but I don't think you'd buy the humble act."  
  
I snorted.

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. I'm the captain of an exceptionally loyal crew on a ship that spends most of its time in the middle of the ocean, but you're fearless if you think I'm doing something wrong. 

"You came looking for me. You found me, you talked your way into my crew, you showed me what you could do and then didn't run the first chance you had. We get along exceptionally well. In a lot of ways, we're perfectly suited to one another. And there's something you and I can do, you and I, and no one else, that just might save Ravka, a _nd_  give you some protection at court." He paused, and added somberly, "The country is dangerously close to collapse, Alina." In response to whatever he saw on my face, he added, "Is that news _you_  would go out of your way to spread? It would cause a panic, and then we'd be as good as gone. Fjerda and the Shu Han will pounce the instant they think they can. But we aren't dead yet. We still have a chance. Ravka still has a chance, and a very good one, if you'll say yes."

"I told you I can't do anything about the Shadow Fold."

"And I'm not asking you to." He leaned forward a little, excitement in his eyes. It was a look exclusive to the hatching of impossible, brilliant plans that usually ended up in victory and with less injuries than any sane person would ever guess.

"We can figure that out," he said. He gave a breathy laugh. "I think that between the two of us we can figure out just about anything. But to do that, we have to fix the worst problem first."

I narrowed my eyes at him. There was no problem worse than the Shadow Fold.

"My brother will run what's left of us into the ground, Alina."

I went very still.

I stood up and faced him.

"You want me," I said with slow, dangerous quiet, "to help you steal the throne from the Crown Prince of Ravka."

"I prefer to think of it as a patriotic reorganization. And the plan is for him to hand it over willingly. Vasily isn't a fan of work. He prefers horses and liquor and brothels, and the only reason he wants the throne is to have it. I want it to do some real good. I intend to make him realize exactly how much effort it takes to run a country. Once he does, I'll be there to give him the final nudge.

"Now... before I continue, I'd like to point out that anything on my desk you might want to pick up to throw is likely invaluable and one of a kind."

He waited, with a look like he was expecting me to put something together. When I didn’t, he said, "The best way we can help our country, and the best chance we have of keeping you a free woman, is as a team." He waited again, but I refused to be the one to say it out loud, and part of me was still hoping this was about to take a wild left turn. "I'd like your hand, Alina."

There was a long silence.

"In marriage," he added. "Well, betrothal first, obviously. But I do think you'd make an excellent Queen." When I remained silent, he held his hands up in defense and hurried to say, "Just think about it for a moment. It makes perfect sense, and we have a real connection, Alina, you know we do. Just like I know I'm not the only one who's been fighting it. Living at the palace has to be infinitely more appealing than spending the rest of your life on a ship surrounded by people who would do exactly what you suggested that day in the infirmary at their first opportunity. You'll be safe there. You can help people there, in a way no one else can, and that we desperately need."

I had stood, watching passively as he spun from one tactic to another. He seemed finished. So now it was my turn.

"This is why you kissed me?" I asked. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a perfectly reasonable, calm tone. To anyone else, it wouldn't have looked like Sturmhond-- Nikolai-- whoever he was, went just a little bit white.

“I kissed you because I _wanted_  to,” he said firmly. “That’s why this is so perfect--”  
  
“Perfect for _who?”_ I bellowed. I wanted to plaster him to the wall with a burst of light. Instead, I reached out and picked up the first heavy thing my hand found. It shattered the glass window where his head had been a split second before and thudded twice on the deck outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Borrowed and altered the bit in here from Crown & Call about the shipping clerk impersonating Nikolai at university, and of course his titles and such. Also probably that part about Vasily being lazy and wanting the throne and stuff. I don't remember. >_>
> 
> Chapter title is a note to self.
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> 6/10/18: The delivery of Sturmhond's proposition altered for ooc. Rough draft.


	5. Chapter 5

Shouting and running erupted out on deck.

“Back to your posts!” Sturmhond commanded harshly.

To me, he said, his voice lowered, “Think about it, Alina. Why would I lie to you about this?”

“To get me to go back without a fight so you can--” my eyes darted to the broken window and I lowered my voice, too. “--Turn me over!” I whisper-shouted, rigid in my fury.

“Exactly. What good would that do me? You’d blow up the minute I did, literally for all I know, which would do nothing but make getting paid a headache. And I don’t traffic in people. You know that.”

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to set his tacky coat on fire, I wanted to throw something else at a part he’d have a harder time pulling out of the way in time. But the fact was, he had a point. Hard as I thought, I couldn’t find another reason he’d be saying this to me. It was true, he’d never come across a prize as big as a Sun Summoner, but I had seen him turn down lucrative jobs - even fight to actively subvert them - when they crossed a line he didn’t care for.

I felt something in my face crack, and clenched a fist against it. I turned just enough to pick up the ring and look at it again. It was heavy and solid. Not a forgery. And when only three people in the world had one, copying it or stealing it wouldn’t have been easy.

This could be the trap I’d been running from all my life. I knew that. But part of me also knew it wasn’t.

I slid toward the ground, my back against the desk. My head bowed and my hands went to my hair, still holding the ring. After a long moment, Sturmhond… no, Nikolai. Nikolai Saints-damned Lantsov, walked up quietly and crouched in front of me.

“I won’t force you, Alina,” he said quietly. Gently, I thought. “I’m asking, because I know what a difference we can make together.”

I huffed a bitter laugh, because of course. Of course out of all the options I might have found after deserting, of all the ships I might have boarded, I’d signed on with a Prince of Ravka.

“I thought about different ways to do this,” he said, like he was sharing a doubt. “In the end I figured if I waited to spring it all on you until we were on the road, you might actually, literally kill me. Besides,” he added, his tone shifting toward lighthearted, “a prince travels in much more luxury than a privateer.”

My jaw twitched rhythmically.

Nikolai sighed, then sat down next to me, the same way he had done a dozen times when we’d talked out on deck at night.

“I’m not going to lie and say this isn’t because of what you can do. But it isn’t _just_ about what you can do. Ravka needs someone like you almost as much as it needs someone like me.”

I laughed harshly. At least he wasn’t trying to pretend he had a new personality to go with the change in name.

“False humility has never been my strong suit,” he said. “But I mean it. And I’m glad it’s you. Personally. I…” For the first time since I’d met him, I thought he sounded unsure. What a strange day this was turning out to be.

He sighed again, tightly. “You left the army, but even knowing what would happen if you got caught, you found a way to keep helping Ravka. You care about it. You’re sharp, you’re clever and brave, you’re honorable, and you can almost keep up with me. Just that list is more than I could have expected from any betrothal. On top of that, you’re Grisha. A union between us could usher in an age of cooperation between the First and Second armies unheard of.”

He had a point, but that wasn’t it. Whatever it was, he was taking his time getting to it. I shifted the hand closest to him so I could turn a look of open suspicion on him.

He smiled wryly. “There’s that, too.”

The smile dropped and he turned away. He let his head rest against the desk. “...Everything I said yesterday was true,” he said quietly. He let two of his fingers toy with the edge of his other sleeve.

Sturmhond was _nervous._

I gaped at him, I couldn’t help it. “I can’t tell if you’re full of shit or if you’re just _that good_ an actor,” I said.

“There’s always the third option.”

I snorted. There was no third option. But this man had a talent for producing doors and windows out of thin air.

I saw his lips twitch from the corner of my eye. Then he turned bodily to face me.

“Just tell me something,” he said. He waited to go on until I turned to look at him. “Tell me you hated the kiss, and I’ll leave you be. We can pretend this never happened, I’ll drop you wherever you want, or you can stay onboard once I leave.”

“I hated the kiss,” I said flatly.

Mirth took his eyes, but he kept the rest of himself mostly serious. Mostly.

“Also, you’re entirely too cocky.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“A trait you certainly couldn’t relate to in the least.”

I turned a glare on him. “Watch it, pirate.”

“I’m hurt. We’re not pirates, Alina, you know that. Although ‘Pirate King’ does have a decent ring to it.”

“...I hate you so much.”

He turned serious. “...Do you?”

My head fell back against the desk with a thud. Did I? Right then I wanted to, but… I didn’t think so, not even now. He was so likable it was genuinely disgusting. But how could I know if he meant any of this?

An idea occurred to me.

Abruptly, I stood and walked toward the door. Without so much as pausing, I told him curtly, “I’ll think about it.” I left, and he didn’t try to stop me. Neither did any of the twenty people out on deck pretending not to stare.

He said he’d let me go if that was what I wanted. It was easy enough to find out if he was telling the truth. If it turned out he wasn’t, my situation wouldn’t change much. If he was... well… I supposed maybe I could at least think about this horrible, idiot, stomach-turning plan of his.

 

* * * * *

 

I waited two days before telling him - in a mostly respectful way - to piss off. That seemed an appropriate amount of time for considering one’s future.

The amount of effort he put into hiding the way his face fell nearly had me calling my own bluff then and there.

I walked around expecting to be jumped for the rest of the week, to have my hands bound and to be locked in chains. No one touched me. No one even looked at me any differently.

When we finally docked, once business was concluded, fresh supplies loaded, and the window on the door to his cabin repaired, he told me a horse would be ready for me the next morning. And it was, loaded with supplies. He even pressed a bag of coin into my hand. When I tried to refuse, he told me to consider it a thank you for trusting him. The look in his hazel eyes as he held the little bag securely in my hand with both of his nearly undid me. So I just spun, walked down the gangplank, and mounted up.

I nudged my horse into moving. Orders were shouted behind me, the loud clank of chain sounded as the anchor was brought up, wood scraped as the gangplank was withdrawn, and still, no one surged at me out of the crowd. I didn’t get any more attention than I ever did.

I swore loudly, pulled the horse in a tight circle, and kicked it into a run. I barely heard the shouts of people as they threw themselves out of its path. When the animal's feet left the dock, I squeezed my eyes shut with a prayer--

They flew open when we landed with a heavy thud on the gangplank, eliciting much louder, more enthusiastic curses and a good deal of scrambling as the men aboard tried to stop hundreds of pounds of weight from falling into the bay, then avoid getting kicked in the head as I urged it onto the deck.

I pulled to a stop in front of Sturmhond, breathless, and had the gratification of seeing a genuinely stunned look plastered on his stupidly perfect face.

I shrugged, looking for all intents and purposes completely unapologetic. “I needed to know if you meant it.”

I was yanked down gracelessly from the saddle, pulled to him, and met with a passionate kiss.

There was a hush of total silence on deck - the shouts of getting us set for the ocean stopped, the sounds of rigging and gears ceased. And then everything erupted into cheering. I heard Privyet mutter, "About bleeding time."

“Set anchor!” Sturmhond barked, then he yanked me into his cabin, slammed the door, and pressed my back into it.

His hands were planted on either side of my waist, my hands resting on his forearms. His face was practically glowing. It was disgusting how hard it was to keep from smiling back. His joy was contagious.

“I’m not marrying you,” I said in no uncertain terms. His broad, elated smile didn’t even stutter. “I only learned your real name a week ago for Saint’s sake. But if you really think I can make a difference....”

“I do,” he said, confident.

“Then I’ll go. And since I’m pretty fond of not being dead, we can tell people we’re engaged. I’ll play along until I see for myself who your brother is, but you and I will know that’s all it is. A play. I don’t even know who you are.”

Impossibly, his smile grew. “That’s the thing,” he said. “You do. We have things to learn about each other, and I’m truly looking forward to it. But you do know me, Alina. More than any other person I’ve ever met.”

He leaned in to kiss me again, and despite what I’d just said, I didn’t argue. It went on until I was flushed head to toe and had to stop myself from arching against him and more or less clawing to get him closer. Which, by that point, would mostly have been impossible anyway. I gave him a shove and stepped away with a nod to the door. “One of us should get back out there before they really start having fun with the rumors. I nominate you.”

“Oh, you’ll get used to that.” His smile was luminous, and I would have been lying if I’d said I wasn’t just a little proud of the fact that he was breathing hard.

“...Right, ok, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take the horse and the money. Nice knowing you.” I reached for the door, only the be caught around the waist and pulled back to him with an unfairly deep laugh.

“Too late,” he said. “We have a verbal contract.” He kissed below my ear and whispered, “You’re stuck with me, Starkov.”

“Shows what you know. I have very expensive taste. The royal coffers will be weeping within the week.”

He huffed a laugh and turned me around, framing my face with his hands. “Thank you,” he said quietly. It was probably the most sincere thing I’d ever heard him say. He kissed me again, this time almost chaste. “We’re going to change everything together, Alina. You’ll see. I’ll make certain of it.”

For the briefest moment, it was all I could do to keep my smile from faltering, just a little.

I’d spent my life with one law: don’t get found out. Now, I was about to shout myself to the world. A peasant, an orphan, and a deserter, on the arm of a prince set on taking the throne out from under his brother. And how much did I even know about him, really?

I hadn’t thought about Mal in what I suddenly realized was such a long time that I felt a pang of guilt in an old, distant, well-worn groove under my ribs. But I couldn’t help wondering: what would he make of all of this? What would he think of Sturmhond and his plan?

 

* * * * *

 

“Soverenyi,” Ivan said, letting himself into the Darkling’s study with a bow. “The younger prince is returning to Os Alta.” He paused. “He claims to have a Sun Summoner with him.”

The Darkling glanced up, unconcerned. Rumors of a Sun Summoner tended to crop up every few generations. He looked into them, of course, but they were always just that: rumors.

“Apparently they’ve been making stops in every town and village along the way to show off her powers.”

That got his attention. “Do we have anyone who can confirm it?” He asks.

“Not yet, but they should be arriving in Nezhin in a few days. We have a unit who can get there in time.”

The Darkling gave a nod. “Tell them to remain unseen.”

“Understood.” Ivan bowed again and left.

The Darkling didn’t return to his work, not right away. For a long time, he just stared at nothing, eyes long distant.


	6. Chapter 6

At every stop, in front of every audience, he turned on the charm and flirtation, and it left every moment alone in the confines of the carriage feeling stifling and charged, and it got worse every single day.

I insisted we keep the curtains wide open at all times. After the third day, I was ready to yank them closed myself, which only told me it had been a good call to make.

Stops at inns were the worst. Even when our rooms weren’t close to one another, it was like I could feel him through the walls. I hardly got any sleep. _He_ always woke luminous, and it was disgusting. But then, I was technically a Grisha. I always woke luminous, too. But I had long grown used to the way men - and a surprising number of women - looked at me.

I knew he’d had the same problem every night. The knowledge did not help.

About a week into the journey, I was looking out the window and I jumped when his hand was suddenly on mine. My eyes darted to him.

“You’re going to drill a hole in your leg if you keep drumming your fingers like that. And another in the floor.” He nodded down to where my heel was still bouncing in the air.

I growled and turned sideways, pulling my legs up to my chest and folding my arms over them.

“Trying to set the forest on fire with your eyes, now?”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“I mean, we are engaged,” he said. His light, knowing tone made me want to give him a black eye. Tamar would heal it, but it would be satisfying for a few minutes. “If you need to release some pent up energy--”

“Don’t tempt me,” I growled.

He held his hands up in mock surrender. But then he just kept watching me, and I felt like it was heating my blood a full degree with every minute that passed.

“It isn’t easy for me, either,” he said. His voice was almost serious - something that happened so rarely it always made me pay attention. And I thought I heard it more than most people.

Carefully, I looked over at him from the corners of my eyes.

“Knowing how hard it is for you, too, doesn’t exactly help.”

I glared down at the pale blue velvet of the cushion. “That’s exactly it,” I said, sulking. “I learned how to read people when I was a child. I learned how to control my tells, and to always know when I was giving them. I had to. Yes, I have a temper. I can’t count the number of times I was written up for punching some idiot in the face when he got it into his head that ‘no’ meant something other than ‘piss off or I’ll take your eyes out.’ But I didn’t realize I was even doing it,” I said bitterly. “The thing with my hand, I mean. Or my foot. I’ve never….” I gritted my teeth angrily. “I’ve only ever been… Saints help me, if you make me regret saying this out loud,” I threatened vaguely, but enthusiastically, “but I’ve only ever really been attracted to one other person, and I always understood nothing was going to happen there. This… I don’t know how you stand it. I feel like my skin is going to burst.”

“Alina,” Nikolai began. He sounded so uncertain, it made me look at him, which I regretted immediately when I saw his face. “Have you never…?”

I was quiet for a beat, then bolted for the door. “I’m riding the rest of the way.”

He grabbed me, one hand on my arm and the other on my waist and pushed me back down to sit. “...Holy hell,” he said. He sounded stunned.

“Very graceful, your Majesty,” I snapped. But when I looked up at him, he didn’t look dumbstruck or embarrassed or heated or anything I might have expected. Because why would he? It would have been so out of character. No, Nikolai looked _troubled._

“...I don’t think I realized until right now exactly how much he’d meant to you,” he said quietly. “You never wanted to talk about him, and I didn’t want to push.”

Abruptly, I became an entirely different kind of uncomfortable.

“It isn’t like I didn’t try,” I defended. My voice sounded pathetically weak to my ears, and I couldn’t look at him. “I did. It just always felt….” What, lackluster? Boring? Like I was betraying someone who had barely looked at me twice? That was still a mystery to me. _Everyone_ looked at me twice. And now this, with Nikolai… I had no frame of reference that could have prepared me for something like this.

He sighed, heavy and loud, and flopped back into his seat, a hand raking through his hair.

“...You know, I think this is the least composed I’ve ever seen you,” I said. “And I once saw you magnificently drunk. I’d say sloppy drunk if you’d been anyone else, but you didn’t have the decency to do it right.”

He laughed hollowly. “...I’m never ready for you,” he said. It sounded like a confession, and not one he was especially happy to be making. “You’re brash and outspoken and still, just about every time I turn around, you drop something new in my lap and I’m not quite prepared.” He looked at me like I was a troubling engineering problem rather than a person. “The answer to this situation is obvious. It’s easy, and _Saints--”_ he cut himself off sharply and closed his eyes. He didn’t have to finish the thought, though. I knew that look. _I want to._

It made my throat go dry.

It took him a minute, but when he opened his eyes again, his face was schooled and his voice in order. He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. His hair was tousled, just enough that a few strands of it fell onto his forehead. It was arresting.

He gave his head a little shake, like he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “I don’t think I’ve ever cared so much about not chasing someone off. I don’t think it’s even occurred to me that I might be able to.”

For a long time, we just looked at one another. Then I gave a huff and turned away from him.

“You’re so charming it’s disgusting,” I accused, my voice acid. I could see his stupid grin without looking over.

“Tell me something,” he said.

“No.”

His smile grew.

“Do you have as much trouble as I do getting to sleep at night?”

I froze.

“No,” I said stiffly. “I sleep like a baby.”

He laughed.

I turned to glare murder down at the lacquered white back of the coach.

“Come here,” he said.

I glared murder at him instead.

“Please?” He held an arm out to me.

“...I hate you,” I said. But I moved to his seat, leaned into his side, my head in his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around me. My own arms were still tightly crossed, which abruptly I found necessary, because some idiot had thought us being _closer_ would somehow help. But then his free hand clenched so tightly his knuckles went white, and I wasn’t meant to see it, so that was something.

“Serves you right,” I muttered, despite my own suffering.

He chuckled and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of my head. He squeezed his eyes shut like he was bracing himself. So I bit him. He had the good grace not to laugh, but nestled half against his chest as I was, I could feel it shake him.

 

* * * * *

 

Nikolai set a folded piece of parchment on the table in front of me. We were dining in a private room at a good-sized inn just three days from the capitol. “One of my men gave this to me, I thought you’d appreciate having it back.”

I glanced at him curiously as I unfolded it. I recognized my own handwriting immediately and froze, goblet halfway to my lips. I set the cup back down slowly.

It was a letter I’d written to Mal and given to a courier not an hour ago. I knew word was getting around that the Prince had bagged himself a Sun Summoner, and Mal would know what that meant. I should have written to him long ago and told him I was alive, at the very least, but I had clung so tightly to my hurt and anger, using it to push myself forward through nights of poor sleep on hard ground and missed meals and days of crushing uncertainty, and through wanting nothing more than to go right back to him, that I hadn’t wanted to let it go. And when I’d been aboard Sturmhond’s ship, it had been so easy to pretend I didn’t need to say anything to him at all. That I could really, finally let it go. That maybe it was better if Mal just thought I was gone.

“Not really what you expect when you give something to a courrier.” My voice was jagged, pointed shards of ice.

“No, but a consequence of having exceptionally loyal men.”

“Men who felt the need to spy on your betrothed?”

“I made it clear it wasn’t to happen again.”

“But not before you took it and read it.”

“I didn’t, actually. Read it, I mean.”

I scrutinized him, but found no lie on his face.

“But you didn’t just give it back to the courier, either,” I said. “Which means either this is some painfully and uncharacteristically bad attempt at earning points, or you wanted to remind me exactly how close I’m being watched at all times.”

“Are we on a points system?” He asked brightly. “How far ahead am I? Judging by your lovely flush in the carriage before we got here, I must be doing well.” His smile was positively inappropriate.

“I will literally kill you.”

He hummed, unfairly low, and it elicited an even more unfair response in me. “At least I’ll go out with a beautiful view.”

I gripped my fork too tightly.

“Alina, Alina,” he laughed, holding his hands up, placating. “I didn’t read it, really.” His smile fell, just a fraction. “Fair guess who it was to, anyway. I didn’t particularly want the details. And they weren’t my business.”

I snorted. “When has that ever stopped you?”

“You mean when has that ever stopped _Sturmhond._ There are a few differences. Aside from the improved wardrobe and notable absence of truly prolific cursing.”

“Who says it was to… him?” I demanded. Nikolai didn’t miss the hesitation, and I could have kicked myself for it. “I’ll have you know I was very popular in the First Army.”

“Yes and I’m very popular everywhere. That doesn’t mean I have a lot of pen pals. And this is the first letter you’ve sent since you joined up.”

The air around me went cold as all the heat was suddenly compressed, then hot and shimmering as it ignited.

He shrugged, unrepentant. “I have everyone watched when they’re new.”

“And once I wasn’t new?” I asked through a tight jaw.

“When you weren’t new anymore, you were a Sun Summoner, which made you endlessly fascinating.”

“By which you mean a new resource to be jealously guarded.” Or that he’d suddenly found himself wanting to know every possible way to manipulate me.

“There were a lot of unanswered questions.”

“This is getting dangerously close to clumsy for you.”

“I’m deeply insulted.”

“But I’m not even trying yet.”

He smiled, rueful. “I have a flare for the dramatic, you know that. Besides, it wasn’t going to go out for a few days, anyway. Which is another thing. The post is reliable, despite the wars, but it doesn’t get more reliable than a prince’s personal courrier. Or faster, for that matter. You didn’t ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” I repeated dumbly. “About sending a letter. Nikolai if you’re looking for someone to act maidenly, and incompetently helpless--”

“No, I--” he cut himself off and I swear he nearly ran his hand through is hair.

“I suppose this has nothing to do with the fact that a royal courrier would have told him in no uncertain terms that the rumors were true?”

“Alina they don’t ride around in gold uniforms.”

I gave him a flat look.

“Usually. This one doesn’t.”

“And the armed guard that would have been with him?”

“They could have waited outside the camp. They wouldn’t have, but they could have. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.” He looked genuinely flustered. I actually regretted not being able to enjoy it.

“You don’t say.”

He pushed his plate away and put his forearms on the table. “I know this is important to you, that’s all. And frankly I was amazed you didn’t know how closely they were watching you. That’s not like you. Saints, _I_ didn’t even know how closely they were watching you. I mean, I did, but that… _that….”_ he puffed out a breath and shook his head. “Yes, I wanted you to know. And I thought you should hear it from me.”

“I’m touched.” I said flatly.

His face and voice softened. “Alina… I know Oretsev--”

I cut him off. He was looking at me like I was a wounded puppy. “Can we not talk about this?” I fairly exploded, exasperated and grossly uncomfortable. “I owed him better, ok? We were family going on sixteen years! Maybe we didn’t talk as much as we used to, but it was me and him, that was all it ever was, all that time. Well, and his three new stupid girlfriends every week,” I added with a disgruntled roll of my eyes. It still made my stomach heave thinking about it.

“I left. I didn’t say anything, I just left. He probably thought I was dead, and either way, he blamed himself. It was a terrible thing to do to someone. Inexcusable. I just… wanted it done, with the letter. I didn’t want it to be a _thing._ Which it has now become because you couldn’t keep your abnormally large nose out of it.”

“How dare you,” he said as if genuinely affronted.

“Narcissist.”

“What an ugly lie. I haven’t so much as seen my reflection in a puddle since this morning.”

I laughed weakly, I couldn’t help it, and that almost made me angry. Because I wanted to be angry, but he was just so good at diffusing it. I wanted to throw my potato at his stupid, perfect face.

Mal, knowing Nikolai’s men had been outright spying on me, this whole conversation, it all swirled together in my gut and my appetite was suddenly gone. Which was impressive, because I usually ate more than anyone else around me. I pushed away from the table. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Alina--” He protested gently. But I ignored him, and he let me go.

I clomped my way gracelessly down the stairs. When one of Nikolai’s soldiers wouldn’t let me go off alone, I threatened him with bodily harm, and when that didn’t work, I yelled so loudly for Tamar that the entire establishment went quiet and gawped at me, then started whispering behind their jeweled, well-manicured hands. It was hard, even now, not to think about the good the right person could do with even one of those baubles.

It wasn’t a moment before Tamar and Tolya were barrelling down the stairs. I waved off their urgency and just said, not bothering to hide my mood, “I’m going for a walk, and apparently privacy has recently been made illegal. Will you come with me instead of Corporal Rafter, here?”

She looked at me, shrewdly studying, but nodded easily enough. Sometimes I got the impression she and her brother weren’t really here for Nikolai. At least not completely. It was absolutely bizarre and confusing.

She leaned in and asked in an undertone, “Corporal Rafter?”

“Yes, after the size of the stick up his backside.”

She made a quiet sound of amusement.

Once we were out the door and around the corner, I said, “Thanks for your help. Now please go away, I want to be alone.”

“You know that’s really not a good idea.”

“You know if I don’t get a Saints damned minute to myself, I am going to light something on fire.”

“I’d listen to her,” a deep voice said lightly from just behind us. We whirled around, and it didn’t take longer for her hand to go to one of her axes than it did for the blood to drain from my face.

He was leaned against the edge of the corner of the building, looking for all the world as if he was at his leisure. “She’s good for it,” he added.

All I could do was stare dumbly, because he’d grown a beard. I’d never seen him with a beard.

“...Mal?” I breathed.

Tamar’s eyes darted between us, but landed on me, hawkish and steady.

For a long moment, the only sound was of the tavern on the other side of the wall.

“I’ll… be right inside,” Tamar said.

Neither of us spared her a glance as she walked away.

Eventually, Mal broke the silence. “You’re alive,” he said. His voice was inscrutable.

“I wrote you a letter,” I said. My voice was quiet and pathetically weak.

“Mm. I didn’t get it.” That time there was a tone to his voice. Anger.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

 _I’m sorry._ The words were on my lips, my throat was working around them, ready to push them out like a reflex, but at the last second, I stopped myself. I knew I owed him an apology, at the _very_ least. But for some reason, I didn’t want to give it.

“How are you?” I asked instead, hesitant and uncertain.

“Oh, you know. My best friend told me she was in love with me, then before I even had a chance to react, she disappeared. I panicked for a while, ended up deserting to go after her, followed rumors up and down the coast, got work on ships to follow them overseas, panicked again when word of a Sun Summoner surfaced and any trace of her disappeared. Lost a few pounds, a few weeks of sleep, eventually had to wonder if she’d died,” there was a hitch, nearly inaudible, in his voice when he said the word, pained and hurt and angry. He tried hard to hide it. I saw something cut behind his eyes. “Wandered aimlessly for a few months. Grew a beard. It’s been a great time. I really feel I’ve grown as a person.”

My hands were over my mouth.

I tore them away, punched him as hard as I could in the chest, and bellowed, _“Idiot!”_

“Ow! Saints, Alina, what is--!”

“No! Don’t you ‘Saints Alina’ me!” I yelled. “What were you _thinking?_ Are you mentally deficient? You--” I lowered my voice to a whisper, “You _deserted?”_

He leaned in, furious, and whisper-shouted back, “You didn’t leave me much choice!”

“You loved being in the army! You were a hero! Famous! I-- You--” I broke off with an infuriated growl, my hands turning to fists in my hair as I whirled around to try and make sense of what was happening. Was this a dream? Had someone drugged my wine?

All I managed was another loud, possibly over-dramatic growl and a good deal of cursing.

“Well at least now I know the rumors of you spending time on a pirate ship are true,” he said drily.

I whirled on him, but before I could get a word out, he leaned in and fairly spat, “You _left._ Don’t tell me you thought for a second I was just going to leave it at that. We were supposed to be there for each other, and when I didn’t have an answer the minute you dropped that on me, you just disappeared.”

“Dropped…? You made it clear how you felt!”

“No I didn’t!” He yelled. “I couldn’t have, because I didn’t know!” He grabbed my arm, dragging me off into the trees behind the tavern. When we were far enough away that we wouldn’t have to keep whispering, he dropped it as if touching me disgusted him.

He laughed bitterly and said, “Do you know how hard I had to work when we were younger to _not_ look at you that way? Saints, there were days, weeks, _months_ when I couldn’t think about anything but--” He cut himself off, angry, but splotches of color found their way to his cheeks. For a moment it seemed all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut.

I was struck dumb and speechless.

“You can’t be serious,” I uttered, incredulous. “You hardly even looked at me when we got older.”

“That was because of how much I _wanted_ to look at you!” He yelled. “Why do you think I started getting into so many fights?”

Fights? He’d gotten into fights because he’d grown into a cocky, arrogant hothead. But suddenly I couldn’t help but remember the first truly bad one he’d ever been in. It had been with an older boy at Keramzin who wouldn’t stop touching me and following me around. And there had been other times, rumors about people he seemed to pick fights with who would suddenly leave me alone before I’d had to make them.

I put a hand to my stomach.

“You were my _family,”_ he said, and there was something raw about his voice now, almost accusing. “You weren’t just some girl I took to bed and forgot about. You were too important for that, you meant too much. I wanted….” He trailed off. He turned and kicked a rock hard into the trees. “I wanted something better than that for you. You showed interest in other people, and I figured it was for the best. So I let it go. I worked my ass off to let it go, to just be your friend. And then you told me what you did and I just… I couldn’t….” The heat seemed to go out of him. “Saints, Alina, you could have given me until _morning.”_

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. I’d seen the look in his eyes when I’d told him. Stark and pained. He’d _recoiled._

...And suddenly that took on a new color. But I hadn’t known any of this. I’d made the only assumption I could, and so the best thing to do was just save us both the pain and the humiliation and finally cut him free of the dead weight he’d been carrying for years. He wouldn’t have to hold my secrets any more, wouldn’t have to worry over them, and I wouldn’t have to watch as he entertained so many lovely women. But suddenly I saw it from his perspective. He didn’t know I’d never been with anyone. I’d made a point of making it look like I was having just as much, well, _almost_ as much fun as he was. It had been so important to hold up the lie.

I gave a hollow shake of my head and stepped away until my back thudded into a tree. I put my hands over my face, then scrubbed them down.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I thought….”

“I know what you thought,” he said, and the bitterness and anger were there again.

“Then why did you follow me?” I demanded. “The whole point of leaving was to make things easier for you!”

He strode forward and gripped my arms. I wasn’t certain I’d ever seen him so angry. “You wanted to make things easier for yourself,” he fairly spat. “Even if I had told you that night that I didn’t and would never feel the same, how could you have ever thought having you gone would be _easier?”_

After a moment, his grip loosened. Something in his face shifted, and he stepped away like I’d burned him. He wouldn’t look at me.

“He’s obviously taking care of you, at least,” he allowed.

“What?” I felt disoriented. “Oh. No. I mean yes, he does, but I’ve been using my powers a lot, too,” I said weakly.

He laughed coldly. “Yeah, I heard. I suspect the whole country has, by now. I saw your little show in the last town. Very impressive.”

I almost paled. Before we’d left, Nikolai and I had shared what would have looked to anyone else like a very tender, very loving kiss. “How long have you been following us?”

He gave me a hard look.

“You know what I mean,” I half snapped.

“I caught up with you at the last town. I almost turned back. But I knew I had to talk to you at least once. I was waiting, and when I saw you storm out….” He shrugged. “It didn’t seem like I was going to get another chance.”

I wanted so badly to put my arms around him, but I didn’t think I could, not now. It would have been hard enough, but we’d both basically admitted to being in love with each other. If not now, then certainly in the past.

“You moved fast, I have to give you credit for that,” he said. “How did you even find him?”

“Excuse me?” I asked quietly. My tone would have made almost anyone else quail. “I ‘moved fast?’”

He leaned a shoulder into a tree and crossed his arms comfortably over his chest. “Sure. I mean, I haven’t met the guy, obviously, but landing a Prince? That has to be a pretty impressive story.”

My fist clenched.

And then I punched him right in the jaw with it. I tried to storm off, but I didn’t get far before he caught me by the arm. At the warning look I gave him, he let me go and held his hands up. “I’m sorry, ok?” He seemed to mean it, so I didn’t leave. Or hit him again, though part of me wanted to.

“Saints,” he breathed. He worked his jaw, a hand going to it gingerly. “It’s been a while since you really punched me, but have you been taking lessons?”

“I lived on a privateer’s ship for six months, Mal. I learned how to handle myself.” I also took lessons. Not something I felt he needed to know just then.

“I’ll say.” He paused. He was studying me, and it almost, _almost_ looked like I was just talking to my old friend again.

“So… it’s true, then,” He said. “You’re engaged?”

I pursed my lips, but closed my eyes so I could reach out on the light and make sure no one was close enough to overhear.

“Sort of,” I said quietly. “I think it’s mostly a lie, but it was the best way to keep me from being hanged or locked in a tower when we get to the capitol.”

For the briefest second, he looked relieved. It buried itself quickly. “Mostly a lie? You _think?”_

I looked up at him, but found I had no idea what to say, so I just sighed. “Come on,” I said, heading back toward the tavern.

“What?”

“Did you go deaf in the last six months? I said ‘come on.’ I’m getting you a pardon so you can shave off that horrible racoon that died on your face.”

 

* * * * *

 

I thought this might have been the longest I had ever heard Nikolai go without saying anything. Which still wasn’t very long, but the point remained.

“I can’t,” he said.

“What do you mean you can’t?” I demanded, at the same moment Mal gave a quiet, bitter laugh. “You shut the hell up,” I said to him. He just crossed his arms and looked away. But he kept his chest puffed out a little, as he had since we’d gotten to Nikolai’s room and he had come into view.

“I mean I can’t. Only the King can pardon an act of desertion, and it isn’t a favorite pastime of his.”

“No,” Mal said, “lowering the draft age and undersupplying his soldiers is.”

I let my eyes close. “For two seconds, Mal, for _two seconds_ can you please _shut the hell up?_ At least until we know you’re not going to hang?” My expression made it clear how unwilling I was to let that happen.

“Preferences he and my brother have in common, unfortunately,” Nikolai said.

I glowered at him. “Really? You’re choosing right now to give me the sales pitch? _Really?_ Or should I just get you two clubs so you can beat each other over the head until you decide you’re not that different after all?”

Sour looks, one subtle and manicured, the other bordering on abhorrence, crossed both their faces, and I rolled my eyes.

I turned to Nikolai. “Just… tell me there’s _something_ you can do. Please,” I begged. I did nothing to hide the fear from my face as I looked at him.

I saw the moment he crumbled. “I can probably figure something out. But….” He glanced at Mal, then gave me a loaded look. “It’s going to involve him coming with us.”

Mal barked out an incredulous laugh, and I paled.

“All I can do is include him in the story, Alina.” The story being that he’d come upon me needing help that night in Kribursk, and unable to risk having himself outed as Sturmhond to the world at large, had absconded with me in secret, thus erasing the idea that I’d deserted at all.

“He can go back to the First Army, but we’ll have to present him to the King first.”

 _”He_ is standing right here,” Mal said, icy.

“Were you? I thought you’d left. You blend in so well with the walls. Must be all the brown.”

Mal stiffened, and I closed my eyes.

“One more,” I warned. “One more, and I’m going to have Tolya lock you two in a broom closet for the night.”

Mal opened his mouth behind me to protest.

_”One. More.”_

Both men looked at me.

“...Does it ever get less unnerving when she does that?” Nikolai asked.

“Not really.”

I made a spectacularly disgusted noise and headed for the door.

“Mal,” I said, “if they’re out of rooms, you can have Nikolai’s bed.”

A little grin broke its way onto Nikolai’s face. It wasn’t hard to follow the leap his mind was making.

“I will stab you right in the eye, your Majesty,” I said on my way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When he talked about her being flushed in the carriage?
> 
> Yes, it was absolutely because they had been making out _hyurd._
> 
> I gave this a last read-through at like 2:30AM. So probably sloppy places. I had an itch to update something.


End file.
